


Crash and Burn. (You're not alone)

by vienn_peridot



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Aftercare, Angst with a Happy Ending, Crying, Cuddling & Snuggling, Depression, Dom/sub, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Other, Rodimus has had really REALLY shitty relationships in the past, Subdrop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-05
Updated: 2016-08-05
Packaged: 2018-07-29 12:15:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7684168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vienn_peridot/pseuds/vienn_peridot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rodimus has always needed more than his partners have been willing to give.<br/>Over time he's learned not to ask, even when he's about to break.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crash and Burn. (You're not alone)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Squid_in_disguise (hero_of_derp)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hero_of_derp/gifts).



> This was inspired by a post Squids_In_Disguise made on tumblr [[Link]](http://nsfw-squid-in-disguise.tumblr.com/post/141568241824/lays-down-and-stares-at-the-ceiling-i-just).
> 
> Love you mate, so Imma fuck up some robots for you *heart emoji*  
> I'm sorry this took so fuckin long omg TnT Yes I named it after a Savage Garden song, I have no excuses.
> 
>  
> 
>  **PSYCHOLOGY NOTE:** I had to do some research into the phenomena of Subdrop when preparing to write this so I would have a better idea of how to go about it. What I found suggested that SubDrop is similar in nature to a bout of reactive depression, experienced by the Sub when the massive amount of endorphins produced by a scene fades from their system.  
>  So if I may be permitted an analogy; post-holiday blues when going back to work after having time off to do things you enjoy could be seen as a mild example of this phenomena. In both cases you’re going from YES FUN TIMES to UGH THIS AGAIN, but SubDrop is more intense and unexpected than post-hliday blues.  
> One of the sources I found also said that if the Sub has underlying mood issues then these can exacerbated by SubDrop, _especially_ if those issues aren’t being/haven’t been dealt with. So given my Rodimus headcanons and familiarity with depression, this is what I've come up with...

Roddy was flying high for _days_ after their session.

It had been beyond intense, absolutely perfect. Rung had put him so far under that he hadn’t even been able to recognise his own designation for hours afterwards. Rung had wrapped him in his blanket, and carefully fed him slow sips of fuel as he stroked Rodimus’ helm and hummed the melodies of songs so old that Rung and Kup were probably the only mechs alive who still remembered them.

When Rodimus could move and speak again, when he had moved beyond clinging and purring and trying to pin Rung to the berth and nuzzle at his neck and chestplates they would move to the washracks. It took them a long time to get clean, neither of them wanted to move too much or too fast and Rodimus was always fussy with Rung’s polishing after a scene.

Rung needed to be brought to a mirror finish from head to toeplate before Rodimus considered himself satisfied. It was one way he tried to show his appreciation, to thank his lover for the things he did for him. On the other hand, Rodimus chafed at any care Rung tried to show after they’d finished their shower.

Anything Rung offered was turned down politely. Rodimus would deflect any shows of concern, aware of just how much Rung had already done for him and unwilling to take up any more of his time. He didn’t want to look weak, even though he _knew_ that Rung was right. That in a few hours or days they’d be curled together on a couch or berth while he sought comfort in Rung’s arms around him and the thrum of that beloved spark beneath his cheek. But until then Rodimus wouldn’t impose. He knew he was needy and pathetic; lovers had told him so often enough in the past. He knew hearing those same words from Rung would break him. He didn’t want to demand more than Rung had already given him and run the risk of being pushed away again.

So this time Rodimus was on the bridge when it happened.

In the middle of a duty shift, one of the most tediously boring ones he’d _ever_ endured.

Rodimus didn’t notice it at first, the grey creeping into the world. It was only when someone asked why he wasn’t smiling anymore that he realised what was happening. He slapped a fake grin on and made some stupid comment that seemed to convince everyone that he was fine while that flat feeling kept on growing.

When it had taken over everything the sadness came in behind it, an occupying force moving on to conquered ground.

Then it became a _good_ thing that the day was so uneventful. The less he had to do, the fewer things he was likely to screw up. Rodimus forced his smile, tried to keep his helm up and act like nothing was wrong when it felt like his spark was slowly disintegrating and all he wanted to do was leave so he couldn’t mess anything up. Go hide somewhere safe and cry until he passed out.

Time slowed to a crawl.

Sure that his chronometer was malfunctioning, Rodimus checked it against the ships’ systems.

It was working perfectly. He still had hours to go, hours where every minute felt like days and each second took years to crawl by.

_Oh Primus._

Rodimus offlined his vocaliser just in time but he couldn’t hide the way his vents hitched or his engine sputtered before he got control over himself. He faked a sneezing fit to over the lapse, made some stupid comment about being allergic to boredom loudly enough to be heard by everyone on the bridge.

Grumbling about how quiet it was to cover the uneven sound of his engine, Rodimus sauntered over to one of the unoccupied consoles that would just happen to put his back to the rest of the room. As soon as his face was safely hidden he let his fake smile drop and crossed his arms tightly over his chest, physically trying to hold himself together.

_I can’t… I can’t do it._

To his intense horror, Rodimus felt warm liquid gathering in his optics. His traitorous body betraying him, finding some outlet for the pain that felt like it was crushing him.

_No, not here!_

Rodimus gritted his denta and willed the tears not to fall. He _couldn’t_ start crying, not now, not here where everyone could see, not when he wouldn’t stop with one or two tears. He knew from experience that the crushing feeling inside wouldn’t be gotten rid of so easily.

 _If I start now I’m not gonna stop. Slag, slag,_ slag!

Pedesteps approaching from behind sent terror and the fear of discovery through his systems. Rodimus acted without hesitation, pretending to facepalm and deliberately missing, striking himself right on the nasal ridge with the heel of his hand.

 _Fraggin’_ Ow!

With watering optics he turned to see a familiar red-and-white blur standing a few paces away.

“Hey Drift, what’s up?” Rodimus rubbed at his dented nasal ridge, hoping that it would explain his watering optics.

“You haven’t been answering your comms, bro.” Drift was frowning at him, optics sharp and gaze too focused for Rodimus’ comfort as it travelled over his frame. “So I came to see what was up. Wanted to steal you for lunch, but if you’re busy it’s cool. Can do it another time.”

Something sharp stabbed Rodimus in the vents. It was hard to get air in. He stared at Drift, waiting for things to make sense.

_Why?_

No matter how hard he tried Rodimus couldn’t get through the grey coating the world or the implosion in his chest to force his processors to work. It just _wouldn’t make sense._ He couldn’t figure out why Drift would be doing this.

 _Why is he being so_ nice _today?_

Drift must have seen something in Rodimus’ face or sensed the imminent storm because he frowned and stepped forward, slapping Rodimus on the back with just the right force to unbalance him and get him moving.

“Come on, you _seriously_ need fuel if it takes you that long to not come up with a comeback.” Drift declared, keeping a hand on Rodimus’ backplates and using it to shove him along when he would have stopped. “I’m stealing Rodimus for an hour or two. Comm us if anything interesting happens. I’ll bring him back when he’s fuelled enough to function.” He was speaking to the bridge crew, using his Command Voice.

Rodimus shook his helm, tried to resist being mollycoddled by his Third in Command, his best mate who had just work the overnight shift and _no fragging reason_ to be up here, should be recharging or training or meditating and _not_ dragging Rodimus off the bridge in the middle of his shift. He couldn’t speak; his vocaliser had fused into a solid lump of slag in his throat. Pulling away from Drift was almost impossible but he managed it, pain flaring from dented armour as he stumbled to a halt.

Looking around was a mistake.

Everyone was watching, all optics focused on him.

_Captain Idiot, making a scene again._

He rubbed at his dented nasal ridge, swiping at gathering optic fluid with a thumb before it could fall. When Rodimus opened his mouth and tried to force words out a broken crackle emerged instead.

The crackle turned into a soft keening cry as he crumpled under the weight of all those optics. Wrapping his arms around himself he sank to the floor, looking down at deckplates that wavered and started gathering a spatter of little wet droplets. Rodimus wanted to sink through the floor and disappear.

“…Can’t get him to you. You’ll have to come here.” Drift was speaking to someone over comms. “Just floor it; I’ll deal with the rest of it.”

Silence filled the bridge when Drift cut his comms. Silence broken only by Rodimus’ quiet sobbing. After half a minute Drift shifted his weight and the bridge crew noisily resumed work, their sudden chatter sounding strained.

_He must have given them The Look._

Air shifted over his spoiler and white armour appeared in Rodimus’ peripheral vision as Drift crouched next to him.

“Rung’s on his way.” Drift’s voice was low and soft, for Rodimus’ audials only. He tried to quiet his sobbing to listen. “He’ll be here soon. Just hang on, bro.”

“Why?” His crackling whisper turned into more embarrassing noises.

“Blaster commed us both, said you looked a bit off. He figured the quiet might be getting to you.” Drift kept his voice low. “So I said I’d come steal you for a couple of hours.”

Rodimus could imagine the rest of the plan. Fuel and cuddles and _Rung_. Small arms around him, brilliant spark pulsing away beneath his cheek, gentle hands petting and soothing. A keening note worked its way into Rodimus’ sobbing as he shuddered and tightened his grip on himself.

_He must be sick of me by now. I’m so pathetic._

Those thoughts and the missing memory-voices of past lovers fed up with his clinginess kept him occupied until Rung finally arrived, familiar orange pedes moving into his line of sight and a hand touching his shoulder lightly as Drift (and the rest of the bridge crew) sighed with relief. Drift and Rung exchanged low words that Rodimus didn’t bother listening to, too busy locking down his vocaliser and forcing his frame to stillness.

“Rodimus, I need you to get up.” Rung’s voice was gentle and authoritative. “Can you stand for me please?”

Shaking all over, with helm bowed to stare resolutely at his pedes, Rodimus complied.

“Thank you, Rodimus.” Rung’s voice was warm, full of praise. A small hand came to rest on his lower back, guiding him gently across the bridge. “Come, I just warmed some midgrade. Let’s go drink it before it cools down.”

Rodimus nodded meekly and let himself be led away. The bridge door slid closed behind them as he let Rung guide him, obedience to the familiar and trusted presence of his Master the only thing he really wanted to process at that point. Still, he heard the bridge crew muttering before the door closed and it hurt, hurt far more than it normally would.

Observant as always, Rung caught his flinch as Rodimus tried to draw in on himself. The gentle guidance stopped, Rodimus watched Rung’s pedes move through the wavering distortion of unshed tears as the smaller mech took a half-turn step to face him properly, small hand never leaving contact with his frame as it moved from Rodimus’ lower back to the flame jets of his forearm.

“Rodimus.” His designation in that soft, beloved voice. One word that somehow encompassed everything he was. “Please look at me.”

He risked a glance up from their pedes to see Rung’s bare faceplates looking at him with that strange, intent expression he sometimes got. Once met Rung’s gaze he couldn’t look away, dazed and completely overwhelmed by the situation.

“Do you have a preference for where we go?” Rung asked softly and clearly, “Office or quarters?”

Rodimus knew there was an answer, knew there was a right one, one that Rung wanted, one that wouldn’t drive him away by being too clingy and demanding. For the life of him Rodimus couldn’t think what it was.

“I… I don’t…” His vocaliser choked into static. Desperate, he reset it and tried again.

“Wherever you like, I don’t care.”

Instead of sounding like his usual glib self it came out as a whisper. Humiliated all over again, Rodimus thought his spark might implode and suck the rest of his frame in after it. Almost hoped it would as Rung’s fingers flexed against his arm and Master frowned in a not-good way.

He would have apologised for screwing everything up, but Rung spoke first.

“That is alright Rodimus.” Rung’s voice was calm, gentle. “Hmmm, no offices; I think that would be best. Come with me please.”

Once again Rodimus let himself be steered through the hallways, stewing in his misery and a growing conviction that this was the last straw; that Rung was well and truly fed up with how pathetic and needy a Sub Rodimus was. That soon they would have The Talk and Rung would move on and find someone less annoying.

Sunk deep in these thoughts Rodimus didn’t pay attention to where Rung was leading him. If his Master was planning on shunting him out the airlock for ruining his day it was only what he deserved. A murmured command halted him before a familiar door while Rung input a code, waiting for the door to open before steering Rodimus through. Once inside he looked around automatically, surprised to see the interior of Rung’s quarters.

_Here? Why are we here?_

“Sit on the couch please, Rodimus; and wait for me there.” Rung was completely serene, giving him instructions as if he hadn’t just been dragged from his workday to deal with a needy, distressed lover. “I will be with you shortly.”

“Yes Master.” Rodimus rasped automatically, moving to do as he was told.

Even though he sat right on the edge of the cushions the couch still dipped beneath his weight. It was an obscenely comfortable piece of furniture, just like the one in Rodimus’ quarters. Except that unlike Rodimus’ couch, Rung’s one didn’t try to eat you if you got pressed up against the back of it. Instead of his usual posture when given this order Rodimus sat patiently with backstruts perfectly straight; helm bowed and dimmed optics staring at his fisted hands where they rested on his knees while he waited for the axe to fall. Rung’s pedesteps were clearly audible as he moved around his quarters while Rodimus stayed obediently on the couch, not even twitching a plate.

 _I’m being such a bother. I’m always a nuisance, getting like this. He’s going to get sick of it eventually. They_ all _do._

Realising that Rung _would_ eventually get fed up with him and leave –and that it would likely happen soon- Rodimus shut his optics off. He could feel tears running down his face and didn’t want to see them dropping to his thighs. His vents hitched and something inside grated, a fan catching as it tried to spin in two directions at once.

Suddenly Rung was _there_ , slim fingers sliding over his damp cheeks, hands guiding Rodimus’ helm down. Before Rodimus realised what was happening his forehelm came to rest against his Master’s chestplates. Then Rung held him and stroked his helm crest, murmuring reassurances and letting Rodimus sob all over his finish. It took a long time for Rodimus to run out of tears.

“Rodimus, what is it?” Rung asked when the crying finally stopped, leaving Rodimus wrung-out and exhausted. “This is more than the usual comedown after a session, even one as intense as our last one. Please, tell me what is wrong so I can try to help you feel better.”

Shuddering, Rodimus sat back up. Rung didn’t try to stop him, but kept one hand on his spiky cheekpieces while the other slid down to brush over his tense neck cabling.

“You’re going to get sick of me.” Rodimus mumbled. He was only able to meet Rung’s optics for the briefest of moments before he had to look away, biting his lip and fighting down a fresh wave of sobbing that threatened to overtake him. “ _Everyone_ does, especially when they find out I get like this afterwards; all needy and pathetic. I’m too much work. _Everyone_ says so and _everyone_ leaves.”

Rung’s engine revved sharply with a sound of pure rage. Alarmed, Rodimus’ optics flicked back to see Rung giving him a _look_ , one he recognised. Rung was angry; completely furious. But it wasn’t aimed at him. This was rage _in defence of_ Rodimus and he recognised it as such.

A small spark of warmth ignited somewhere deep within, beginning to fight back against the agony pulling at him.

 “I have told you before and I will tell you again; your previous partners were complete _afts_. Not _one_ of them was worthy of the gift you gave them when you trusted and submitted.” Rung’s words were firm and he spoke in a tone that was not to be argued with.

“There is _no_ shame in asking for care when you need it. I know it will take more time than we have had together for me to show you that I am willing to give you the care you need.” As he spoke Rung was suiting his actions to his words, pulling a cool cloth from one of his watertight compartments and gently wiping grime and tears from Rodimus’ faceplates.

“You are _not_ a burden, Rodimus. Far from it in fact; I cherish every aspect of our relationship, and that _includes_ being here for you when you need me.” The cloth was put away and Rung cradled Rodimus’ freshly-cleaned face between his palms, his uncovered optics earnest. “ _Please_ don’t hide from me when you need me, love. I am here for you, as you have been there for me.”

Rodimus took a few minutes to really think about what Rung had just said. On one hand it just seemed too out-there to believe, it went against almost everything he’d experienced with relationships. But on the other hand, his relationship with Rung so far hadn’t been much at all like ones he’d had with other Dominants in the past.

_I hope… Maybe it’s real this time…_

“I’ll… I’ll try.” Rodimus sounded awful, his vocaliser completely wrecked from crying. “’S hard.”

“I understand.” Rung leaned forwards and pressed his forehelm gently to Rodimus’. He smiled wryly.  “What will likely be harder is keeping me from dismantling any of your past Dominants, if we happen to meet any. What they’ve done to you is inexcusable.”

Remembering that one _particular_ ex-lover was on board, Rodimus suppressed a wince. They got along alright now, but he wasn’t so sure Rung would see things the same way he did.

 _That’s_ not _a fight I want to see. After hearing how Rung took down those Ammonites I’m not sure who’d win…_

“Can… can we…?” Even with Rung’s reassurances it was still hard for Rodimus to ask for what he needed.

“Less talking, more snuggling?” Rung asked affectionately, kissing Rodimus’ forehelm.

The gentle teasing built the little spark of warmth inside Rodimus into a cautious ember, but he still felt too raw and hollow to smile. Instead he raised his hands to place them over Rungs, squeezing gently.

“Please.”

“Will you be alright if I get the blanket first?” Rung asked, “I don’t want to interrupt a good snuggle because we’re getting cold.”

Rodimus nodded, nuzzled Rung’s nasal ridge briefly with his own before he sat back and let his hands drop back to his thighs. Despite the nod Rung still hesitated, optics scanning his face.

“Go on.” Rodimus rasped, sliding back while Rung watched so he was finally sitting on the couch properly, sinking into its familiar comfort.

It wasn’t until he actually lay down that Rung finally nodded and disappeared from his line of sight. Slowly Rodimus rolled to his belly, burrowing his faceplates into the soft cushions and listening vaguely to Rung rustling around as he cycled his vents slowly and soaked in the scent of glue, candy and _Rung_ that clung to the couch. He didn’t try to think too much about what Rung had said, knowing he was too drained to think sensible about it right now.

_Later._

When felt a familiar soft weight spread over his frame Rodimus raised his helm, cycling his optics a few times to get them focusing properly. Rung was beside the couch, carefully adjusting the weighted blanket so it covered Rodimus _properly_. He was always particular about making sure Rodimus was properly tucked in and this time was no exception. The instant Rung finished fussing with the blanket Rodimus pushed himself up on his elbows, making room for the smaller mech and only messing the careful arrangement of blanket a little bit.

Rung took the invitation, hopping up onto the couch and arranged himself comfortably in the available space, half-reclining and spreading his arms wide. An involuntary whine forced its way out of Rodimus’ vocaliser as he allowed himself to move into the embrace and be drawn down to rest his helm on Rung’s chestplates. He didn’t realise he was shaking until he felt how still Rung was.

One small, clever hand stroked Rodimus’ blanket-covered spoiler while the other continued to tweak the blanket, adjusting it until Rung was completely satisfied with how it covered them both. Then Rodimus let his optics slide offline as Rung’s free hand came to rest on his cheek. Rung kissed the top of his helm and started humming as he stroked Rodimus’ spoiler; an old repetitive tune Rodimus didn’t know but loved all the same.

He forced his frame to be still and soaked it in, the peace and the calm and the dizzying knowledge that Rung _cared_ , this Master _cared_ and didn’t seem to mind when he got clingy. By now Rung’s thumb was rubbing over his cheekpiece in a way that made his spark uncurl from the tight ball it had become after the grey took over. Gentle strokes along his spoiler slowly reclaimed his insides from the crushing misery and every now and then Rodimus rubbed his cheek against the glass panel of Rung’s chest, trying to return the petting without disturbing Rung’s careful blanket arrangement again.

Subtle tension still hummed through Rung’s frame and Rodimus wondered at it, slowly inching his frame closer until he was snuggled as close to the smaller mech as he could get without being glued together. Beneath his helm Rung’s chestplates were warm and comforting, Rodimus imagining he could feel the distinct rhythm of Rung’s sparkpulse slowing into a calm beat.

Carefully, Rodimus shifted so he could ease his arms around his Master and return the comforting embrace. A part of him was still wary of being shoved away, but the happy purr that crept into Rung’s soft humming was reassuring. Holding as tight as he dared, Rodimus let himself bask in what Rung was willingly giving him. Eventually his engine shifted into a soft purr, giving voice to a growing sense of contentment spreading gentle warmth through his frame.

“Thank you.” Rodimus whispered. He wanted to say so much more, but couldn’t find the words. He settled instead for turning his helm to kiss the inside of Rung’s wrist. “Thank you.”

Rung stopped humming just long enough to reply.

“Any time, love.”

The corners of Rodimus’ lips turned up as the warmth of Rung’s frame next to him and the promise of his words spread through him, sending the greyness fleeing before their combined power. His purr increased in volume ever so slightly. Then Rung _finally_ relaxed against him, resting his cheek on Rodimus’ helm crest in a way that made his spark soar.

**Author's Note:**

> Drift and Rodimus are bloodbrothers in this AU, but they usually more trash-talking in public instead of 'mushy friend-stuff.'
> 
> Rung took Rodimus back to his own quarters because an office would imply formality and his own business side, not favourable given Roddy's state. Rodimus’ quarters would hint that Rung can leave at any time, make Roddy worry that he’s going to be given ‘the talk’ and abandoned.
> 
> Please tell me if I've missed typos or tags ^.^;


End file.
